


"I Hate Magic"

by Scarper_Von_Hyde



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Clint's apartment building, Deaf Clint Barton, Demon Hunting is a Good Thing Right?, Demons, Dog Cops, Dubious Morality, Ex Criminal Clint, Flashbacks, Fraction-verse Movie-verse mashup, Gen, Hawkeye with a side of Demons, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, Jehovas Witnesses, Time Skips, girl scout cookies, tracksuit mafia - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-09-28 10:28:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10092308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarper_Von_Hyde/pseuds/Scarper_Von_Hyde
Summary: He must use magic. He must have some secret super power. He's not normal. He never misses.But Clint Barton is as normal and pathetic as they come, so normal and pathetic that the crossroads demon hadn't even wanted his soul, just his luck instead. The deal was that he would never miss his target, and sure enough, he never misses. But outside of shooting, he can’t exactly aim that well.





	1. This is Gonna Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> I started this because I drank too much rum and listened to all of Hoobastank's albums on repeat for days and cried a whole lot and passed out. Then I woke up with a shitty outline and had to edit if for hours to make the first chapter make sense.  
> And every chapter title is a song title from one of Hoobastank's albums.

   It’s cold. Windy. The crossroads were quiet with dull yellow lighting from the blinking streetlamps casting long shadows down across the gravel of the road. Bright light from the rising full moon slowly faded those shadows away from the road, touching nothing but the crossroads and leaving the rest of the surrounding areas in darkness near pitch black.

   Dust rose up in thick clouds from the dry grasses and fields surrounding the mystical convergence point, shrouding any approaching figures in mystery and darkness.

   A small figure with a stuttering candle lit lantern appeared on the northern road, a box of offerings in hand and their mind filled with one goal. Moonlight illuminated their face as they stepped out of the shadows and Clint Barton narrowed his eyes as he stepped forward until he stood in the exact center of the gravel crossroads. He frowned softly, making up his mind for certain.

   He had to be the best.

   He had to make sure he never missed.

   He had to make a deal with a demon.

   The circus psychic, Madam Magda, had told him about mystic dealings happening on the crossroads and he hadn’t been sure he believed her. But now that he was here… Clint stared around him at the perfect circle cast by the silver light of the moon; he felt the wind that blew still to nothing and a shroud of silence take hold of the land. 

   He shivered as the temperature dropped and ice slowly crawled across the ground, maybe this sort of thing was real. Maybe demons really did make deals down at the crossroads.

   Dropping the lantern down at his side, Clint knelt as he scraped a small hollow into the exact center of the crossroads and carefully buried the box of offerings to the demon he hoped to summon.

   Moments passed, and Clint found himself holding his breath in anticipation. 

   “They’re not coming, are they? I knew this was stupid.”

   “Now, now, have some faith!”

   Clint leapt to his feet and spun around, his eyes settling on a dark shadow outside of the bright moonlit circle.

   “Who are you?!”

   “You don’t really need to ask that, do you now?” The voice was smooth, articulated and posh. A dark and twisted mockery of a proper English accent.

   Clint froze in place as icy terror flooded his veins. “Are you… are you really a demon?”

   The figure stepped into the moonlight, pale face almost glowing in the silver shine. “That I am.” It raised an eyebrow and brushed down its dark blood red suit. “And I seem to understand you need something from me.”

   Clint nodded in silence before drawing a deep breath and steeling himself. “I need to be the best marksman in the world! I need to never miss! Ever!”

   The demon grinned manically. “And for this, you are willing to give me your soul? What, are you only seven years of age? You are truly a foolish child, aren’t you?” It shook its head softly; humans were willing to give up everything for almost nothing in return. The demon suddenly realized exactly what it was the boy had asked for. Everything and nothing.

   “I’m eleven! And I told you what I wanted; you have to make the deal!”

   The hellspawn smirked at the petulance displayed and feigned as if they were thinking hard about what had been said. “Hmmmm.” The demon drew out the sound before crossing its arms. “Tell you what, kid. I’ll give you the ability to never miss, but I’m not going to take your soul. Not yet at least.”

   “You, you’re not?” Clint blinked in surprise; he was pretty sure demons were supposed to take your souls. Weren’t they?

   “No, I’ve got something more interesting in mind for you.” The demon grinned, flashing pearly white fangs. “I’ll return in ten years time, and I’ll see what kind of a name you’ve made for yourself as the world's greatest marksman.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “Oh, you’ll see.” The hell spawn reached into the coat of its suit and pulled out an ancient looking scroll of parchment. “Sign here, print your name here, initial here, sign here again and date here.” So this demon preferred written contracts to verbal, sue them!

   Clint nodded and patted down his pockets for a pen. “Uh, I don’t have a-

   The demon rolled its glowing purple eyes and smirked as it pulled an electric purple fountain pen from thin air, “here, use mine.” What, demons are allowed to have a favorite color, this one's just happened to be purple.

   “That’s a real cool pen.” Clint smiled nervously, hand shaking as he uncapped the pen and slowly wrote his name in the magically glowing ink.

   “Isn’t it just?” The demon watched the child, no, no longer a child, he’d just made a deal with a demon, he was a young man now. The demon watched the young man sign the contract, his letters blocky and poorly formed. As the last letter was finished, the contract rolled up with a sharp snap and vanished out of this plane of existence and the demon plucked the purple pen out of the young man's hand, capping it with a flourish. “Now then, I hope you’ll enjoy your newfound talents, won’t you?”

   Clint nodded sharply and picked the candlelit lantern off the ground beside him. “I need to get back. Um, thanks?” He turned away and stepped out of the moonlit circle and into the preternatural darkness surrounding the crossroads.

   “Until we meet once more, Clint Barton.” The demon crossed its arms and watched as they disappeared. It hadn’t asked why the boy needed to be the world's greatest marksman, but it had seen the fire burning in their eyes and the pain in their heart and knew that it was something they needed.

   Besides, it had plenty of time to ask why once it returned in ten years time.

 

***

 

_ “Oh yeah, oh yeah, everything is terrible when buying marijuana makes you feel like a criminal…”  _

   Clint Barton stood in his kitchen and hummed tunelessly with the driving beat of The Menzingers “Tellin’ Lies,” the heavy drum beats and bass line turned so far up he was sure he could have heard them even without his hearing aids in. He was certain that his neighbors, or should he call them his tenants? Whatever. He was sure they could all hear his music, but nobody had complained about it yet. Besides if you even think that you can complain about post-modern east coast punk rock, you’re the one that needs to be complained about.

   At least Kate wasn’t there to complain about his taste in music. Unfortunately, she had taken Lucky with her wherever it was that she went. Clint wondered if Kate would be surprised that he was eating something other than takeout for once. He rolled his eyes, wondering exactly when he’d started putting so much stock in his fellow Hawkeye’s opinion of his eating habits.

   He scratched at his hearing aids, he really hated the clunky behind the ear design, but the damage from the arrows… it wasn’t exactly possible for him to get anything more discrete. But hell, if people think you’re weak they’ll underestimate you, right? Clint nodded to himself, that line of thought seemed right to him. Broadcast your weaknesses because then you’ll know where your enemies will aim. 

   Right.

   Clint shook himself out of his internal musings as the song switched over to “Clear the Air,” from Off With Their Heads and he swayed slowly to the sorrow filled lyrics, every few seconds glaring down at the pan sizzling on the stove top. He’d actually spent some time working on prep for dinner, and he didn’t want to be disappointed. It was Friday, which meant that it was Stir Fry night. Stir Friday, if you will. And yes, he did come up with that one all on his own, thank you very much.

   A loud bang at the door spooked him out of his thoughts, and he immediately grabbed the first weapon available. Clint turned off the blare of his music before he crept to the door, adjusting his grip on the meat cleaver before throwing the door open and glaring out into the empty hallway. 

   Huh.

   Clint shook his head and closed the door as he turned back to the no longer empty apartment. “Jesus fuck!” 

   Seated on his couch was a familiar figure clad in a blood red suit. The demon smiled, showing sharp white fangs and stared back at him with glowing purple eyes. “Hello again, Clint Barton. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

   “What the hell are you doing here?” Clint adjusted his grip on the cleaver, not trusting the sudden appearance of the demon he had met with twice before.

   “Why, I'm simply checking up on my favorite client!”

   Clint slowly lowered the cleaver and stepped back into his kitchen, pulling the now slightly burned stir fry away from the stove top. “Why are you ‘checking up’ on me? You already did that fourteen years ago!”

   “Hm, that I did. Well, no matter, something's come up. Hell is in turmoil, and I need a favor.”

   Clint frowned and shook his head, “a favor? No way. You can go fuck yourself, buddy.”

   “Oh, how you wound me!” The demon dramatically pressed the back of its hand to its forehead and mimed swooning. 

   “I don't care; I'm not helping you with whatever it is you need.”

   “So heartless.”

   “Still don’t care.” Clint ran his hand through his blond hair, “Ugh, I’m going to regret asking this, but why me? You’re a demon; you must have more connections than a human with a paleolithic weapon.” He really didn't want to know why the demon was asking him. He didn't want to know because that would just mean more questions!

   The hell spawn grimaced, purple eyes downcast. “My more  _ powerful _ assets have been turned against me by recent events. And unfortunately, not quite sure when this happened, unfortunately, I find you to be  _ trustworthy _ .” It spat out the last word as if it were laced with the most toxic of venoms or holy water. To a demon, emotions were a hindrance and to find a human trustworthy… something was severely wrong. 

   Clint blinked rapidly, trying to process exactly what he had been told. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted by that.”

   “Flattered of course.”

   “I’ll take your word on it. But even if, and that’s a big if, even  _ if  _ I did help you. What sort of thing would I be going up against?”

   “It is yet unknown, but it is human. Demon hunters.” The demon frowned, “I don’t know where they are or who they are, but they’re headed to this city. And I happen to like this city; this city is where I work!”  

   The marksman shrugged, “what the hell do you expect me to do against that kind of a threat?  _ Hypothetically  _ of course.”

   “I am uncertain. Perhaps I am not even seeking assistance in this matter; maybe I am simply seeking closure from my earthly dealings.” The demon nodded, that sounded right. Emotions weren’t its strong suit, but closure seemed to be fully within the realm of possibilities. Well, it was either that of the last soul it had collected had given them indigestion. 

   “Closure? So what, you just give me a weird message then just vanish?” Clint took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “What are you planning?”

   The hell spawn waved off the last questions, standing suddenly and adjusting their suit avoiding eye contact with the human whose life they had saved then destroyed. “Well then, I will take my leave of you. But mark my words, something has even the most powerful of demons quivering in fear. Whoever it is, wherever they’re from, they’re coming after all the demons they can.” The demon pulled a familiar electric purple pen from its suit pocket and gently set it on the coffee table. “It is unlikely I shall return. Take care of yourself, Clint.”

   Clint began to step forward, but even as he moved, the demon vanished in a haze of purple fog leaving behind the smell of brimstone and the electric purple fountain pen. “I never even learned your name…”

   He turned back to the stove and the burnt pan of stir fry. Clint sighed and ran his hand over his face. For some reason, he wasn’t hungry anymore, and he tossed the still hot pan into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer. 

   It wasn’t like the demon was his friend. Hell, he didn’t even like them! But the thought of them going off to their death left an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. That hell spawn had taken his good luck, but in return had given him what he had needed most. He never missed after that first meeting, but outside of fighting his aim wasn’t that great.

   The archer hefted a sigh and settled himself on the couch, picking up the electric purple pen and turning it over in his hand. Whatever had just happened, whatever he had just been told, it was beyond him. But whatever it meant, he wasn’t sure he even  _ should _ do anything about it. Wasn’t killing demons supposed to be a good thing?

 

***

 

Fourteen Years Ago

 

   Clint woke slowly, the sounds of the circus muted by the thin walls of his trailer. He stretched slowly, working the stiffness of sleep out of his muscles. A few moments had passed before he noticed the time and date displayed on his alarm clock. “Oh shit!”

   “Well, that’s a lovely way to greet me!”

   “Oh, sweet Jesus!” Clint scrambled up in the small cot he called his bed, clutching the covers to his chest in some attempt to preserve his dignity.

   “Oh relax, I’m a demon, not a pervert!” The aforementioned demon was seated upon an aging crate that had served Clint as a chair for the last few months. They looked exactly as Clint remembered, skin pale as death, fangs, glowing purple eyes and the immaculate blood red suit that seemed to belong to a caricature of the creature that wore it. “Besides, I’ve seen much more interesting human specimens than yourself.”

   “Uhh, okay. Should I be feeling insulted? I feel insulted.” 

   “Nonsense, you’re still an adequate human, though there is always room for improvement.” The hell spawn grinned, showing more fang than was necessary.

   “Thanks.” Clint tried not to show his discomfort at the toothy grin aimed in his direction. Those fangs just seemed to be inherently threatening.

   “You’re welcome!”

   “I was being- nevermind.”

   “Ah yes, sarcasm. Never really got the hang of it.”

   Clint rubbed at his eyes, forcing himself to focus on the demon that was chatting with him as if they were long time friends. “So. You never took my soul when we first made our deal, but you never told me why.”

   "And that's why I'm here today." The demon crossed one leg over the other, somehow managing to look smug while doing so.

   "For my soul?" Clint steeled himself the best he could; he had a feeling this was going to happen.

   "No, to tell you why I don't want your soul." The demon had a faraway expression on its face; purple eyes darkened in thought. "You were but a child when you made your deal with me all those years ago. Most of the filthy humans barter their souls away for naught. For riches, for fame, for the love of another. For nothing at all." It frowned, shifting in its seat. "You, filthy human that you are, made a deal for something immense yet nothing at all."

   "I did?" Clint didn't think that being the world's best marksman was something that was that impressive. But he also didn't think it was nothing at all. Damn demon, talking in riddles. "What do you mean?"

   "The way you worded the agreement meant that you could have so much more than what you asked for so long ago. Sort of a subclause of the contract because of how vague the wording was." The hell spawn grinned, "I didn't take your soul that day because it would be both too large of a payment and yet not enough."

   "How does that work?"

   "Being the best at something. To never miss, that can entail so much more than your little life in this flea-bitten circus." 

   "Like what? Money, fame?"

   "You're thinking like a human. You wanted never to miss, but you didn't specify your target."

   "You're saying that I could either be the world's best marksman or to always be, what really lucky?"

   "Indeed. I'm here to make a deal for that choice."

   Clint clenched and released his fists a few times, trying to decide exactly what he wanted to trade away his soul for good. The luck, while tempting, wouldn't help him in the circus but might wherever he went after. And marksmanship, while helpful now, might not be worth it. But he knew what he wanted. "I want to be the world's best marksman."

   The demon grinned ferally, fangs glistening in the low light of the trailer. "Well, then Clint Barton, that I can do for you." With a florish, the demon summoned the same roll of parchment as it had ten years prior. "Now, on the top line write in your desire." It handed over the contract, and as they watched the human write, they felt an odd pang in their empty chest. Moments had passed before they recognized the feeling for what it was. 

   Compassion. Or heartburn.

   Clawed hands took back the completed contract, and purple eyes skimmed the legalese, searching for any mistakes.  They needed to close this deal, but they weren't certain if they could condemn the human to such a painfully short existence. Before they could stop themselves the demon began to speak, "you know, with what you've asked for, I could propose an alternate exchange."

   Clint narrowed his eyes, "what are you talking about? It's my soul for my skill, what can you change about that?"

   The demon sighed, "because you passed up the chance at eternal good luck, I can take that instead." It wouldn't be a great existence, but a life with almost no good luck was still better than living for only ten more years. "It would cover the cost of the exchange, and you'll get to keep your soul, meaningless as it is."

   "Is that possible?" Clint didn't want to get his hopes up, remembering how for weeks after his initial deal he'd berated himself for doing what he did. He'd been a kid at the time, not realizing the gravity of his choices. But if he had the chance to keep his soul... he had to try at least.

   "It is." The demon shook its head, slowly rising to its feet. "But the contract will need to be revised..." They pulled the electric purple fountain pen from their pocket, scribbling binding words onto the parchment and drawing the necessary runes. "That looks about right. I'm just going to need your initials on the revisions and we're good to go!"

   "You know, when I originally heard about demon deals, I didn't think they would involve so much paperwork."

   "Oh yes, hell is full of paperwork." The demon passed the parchment back to the human. "Frankly I love the paperwork. Maybe it's because humans hate it."

   Clint finished scrawling his initials across the paper, not knowing that as he signed away his luck, he also signed away the beginning of the end of his circus career. In less than twenty-four hours time he would find himself on the highwire with a knife hurtling through the air to sever his only support.


	2. Unaffected

  Clint woke abruptly, ignoring the ringing and faint pain in his ears from wearing his hearing aids to sleep, focusing instead on what had woken him up in the first place. The loud knocking on the door repeated once more, and Clint groaned, shoving himself to his feet and shuffling away from the couch and over to the door.

  “Hello?” His voice was hoarse and rough with sleep, the syllables melting and blending into the other. "How can I help you?"

  “Hi, there!” The two missionaries standing outside his apartment door were smiling brightly, speaking almost in perfect tandem. “Do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ?” They were dressed in semi-formal suits, the perfect picture of a typical unwanted guest.

  Great. Just what he needed. Jehovah's Witnesses knocking on his door at, Clint glared down at his watch, 7:30 in the morning. On a fucking Saturday. How the hell were they so perky? Clint blinked slowly, an evil thought appearing in his mind. “Why _sure_! There’s nothing that I’d like to do more on the first day of my weekend!”

  “Well, okay!” The pair smiled, one of them holding and reading off of a brightly colored pamphlet. "Do you know where you’re going when you die?”

  The archer blinked, selecting his words carefully, trying to replicate the expression of the conspiracy theorist he had first heard this speech from. “I have it written in my will that I want my corpse to be strapped to a rocket and fired off into space where it will hopefully crash into Europa and become a frozen scarecrow to ward off aliens from our solar system.” Clint tried his best to keep his voice even, barely successful in preventing a grin from growing across his face.

  The first missionary blinked in confusion before whispering, "um, I meant your soul."

  "Oh, I'm sorry, how silly of me!” Clint smiled, hoping he managed to come across as the proper amount of crazy. “But unfortunately I already sold my soul to the devil." Well, he’d _tried_ to sell his soul, but they didn’t know that! He continued to grin, unmoving and unblinking before leaning forward and whispering conspiratorially, “do you want to know how I did it?”

  “Uh, no, no!” The first missionary turned to the other, a look of absolute horror on their face. “That’s just fine!”

  “Oh yes, no need to tell us! We don't need to know that!” The second missionary nodded, shuffling and dropping brightly colored pamphlets as they discreetly tried to cross themselves. “We really should be going!”

  Clint straightened up, frowning and throwing his hands into the air in mock protest. “But we were _just_ getting to know each other!”

  The missionaries looked terrified, dropping their calm and collected facade. “Have a wonderful day!” Their words ran together in a garbled and rushed slur.

  Clint laughed to himself as the two missionaries all but threw themselves down the narrow staircase, loud banging punctuating each panicked step in their attempt to escape. He grinned and turned back to hs empty apartment, gazing down at his watch as the door closed behind him. 7:34, he’d scared them off in four minutes, a new personal record!

  Too bad he couldn’t scare them off for good, they just kept coming back no matter how hard he tried to get them to leave him alone. Hell, he’d even answered the door naked once, and after an _extremely_ uncomfortable amount of stares on the part of the missionaries, less than three weeks later a new set of missionaries had knocked on his door again! But maybe those ones had been Mormons; Clint couldn’t actually tell them apart. They all wore suits, they all knocked on his door too early in the mornings and were all too easy to spook off.

  The archer stepped into his kitchen, setting up the coffee maker to brew a fresh pot. He was already awake, so he might as well try and stay up. As the coffee maker hissed and heated, Clint rubbed at his hearing aids, unhooking them from behind his ears and setting them onto the kitchen counter. He rubbed at the sore points where the hard plastic had sat and tried to ignore the _gross_ feeling from where the receiver had sat in his ear canal.

  While the coffee finished brewing Clint rummaged in his fridge, pulling out the cold stir-fry from the night before. He glared at the stove top before shrugging and picking up a fork and moving over to the couch.

  Without his hearing aids in he wouldn't be able to hear anyone at his door, but as long as he didn't have any more visitors, he'd be fine. But when did he ever have anything go his way?

****

  Wade Wilson adjusted his very not stolen Girl Scouts sash (troop 3157!) over his red and black costume and checked to make sure his troop was still following him. They’d sold over two hundred boxes of cookies today, and it was definitely not because he’d been threatening customers with his guns, no siree! Everyone had a little red wagon or a basket either empty or half filled with boxes of cookies, and nobody wanted to have to take any boxes home with them.

  “Mr. Deadpool?” One of the younger scouts pulled on the sleeve of his suit to catch his attention. “You know Hawkeye right?”

  Wade nodded, “Yeah, I know him, why?”

  “Well, last year he bought some cookies,” the little girl paused before rushing over the second half of her sentence, “do you think he’d want some this year?”

  The mercenary grinned behind his mask; it had been too long since he’d last hung out with his hawkbuddy! “Well, sweetie, do you want to find out?” And the thought of making Clint buy more Thin Mints and Tagalongs than anyone could eat in a year might be something he’d love to see happen in real life.

  The small scout nodded, and whispered as if she was sharing a grave secret, “he’s my favorite Avenger!” She smiled widely and adjusted her grip on her wagon handle. “I like purple!”

  “Is that why you like Hawkeye?” Deadpool chuckled, kids and their colors, right?

  “Yeah,” the girl smiled again, bright and honest, “and because he’s like Princess Merida! But Merida is prettier!”

  Wade barely managed to contain his snort of laughter, “well, I’ll make sure that he knows that.” The mercenary waved to the rest of his troop, “Come along, follow me so we can sell the rest of our cookies!

  One of the other troop members spoke up from behind, “can we get ice cream after?”

  Another scout chimed in, “I want sprinkles!”

  Wade grinned, “sure, we can all get ice cream after we finish up!” Wade loved his girl scout troop, sure, he wasn’t able to be a den mother, but he was at least able to take the girls out into the city to try and earn badges through community service and such. And even though the whole going door to door to sell cookies wasn’t exactly the easiest option with other troops setting up stands or using the internet, but with Deadpool leading the troop it was definitely the safest!

  He listened to the kid's chatter as they walked, crossing the last street to Hawkeye’s apartment building. “Alright, we’re here, ready to sell the rest of theses cookies?”

  The entire troop cheered and got ready to charge the stairs, “Yeah! Let’s go!” They raced up the stairs, following Wade to the top level.

  “Oi, birdbrain!” Wade knocked on the door, his katana in his other hand. “Come on; you know you want cookies! Dangit Barton, open the door! Ugh, he probably doesn’t have his hearing aids in.” He knocked again before rolling his eyes and pulling out a cheap secondhand lockpicking set. “Look away kids, don’t want you to pick up bad habits.”

  Wade leveled his katana as the door swung open revealing Clint Barton sitting on his couch wearing rumpled clothes, eating cold stir fry out of a frying pan and staring intently at a purple pen. Weird. But whatever, he’d seen weirder. Wade sheathed his sword and grabbed a box of Samoas, tossing them at Clint's head. “Catch, Hawkbuddy!”

  His aim wasn't great, but the purple patterned box flew with great force and smacked the side of Clint's face, startling him into dropping the pan of stir fry onto the table. "Ow, what the hell?!" Clint jumped up, turning to the opened door to see Wade and the troop of girl scouts behind him. He picked up the box of Samoas and frowned. "Uh, what's going on here?"

  Deadpool grinned, shaking a box of Thin Mints. "Cookie Time!"

  Clint shook his head, "hold on; I need to grab my hearing aids. It's too early to try and sign." Clint turned back to the kitchen, he just knew he needed to grab his checkbook as well; there was no way in hell he was going to get away without buying more cookies than any self-respecting man could eat in a year. He picked up the hearing aids, slipping them back over his ears and grimacing at the dull ache left over from the long use.

  The marksman sighed and turned back to the girl scouts and Deadpool, his checkbook in hand. “Alright, so, how many boxes of these am I going to need to buy?” As soon as the words left if mouth the entire troop poured into his apartment, stacking boxes upon boxes onto his couch and coffee table and even on his floor. “Oh. _Great_.”


	3. Educated Fool

   The call to assemble had come in only a few hours after Deadpool had all but forced Clint to buy over three dozen boxes of Girl Scout Cookies and he just really wasn’t feeling it. I mean, it was Saturday it wasn’t even noon yet and Clint was at a _church_. A futzing CHURCH! At least the fight wasn’t in Bed-Stuy and didn’t need all of the Avengers, but speaking of the fight-

   Clint ducked a poorly thrown punch from the villain du jour, who seemed to be a rogue priest that was summoning demons. Now if that wasn’t the highest form of sacrilege then Clint wasn’t sure what was. He let loose a tight cluster of three arrows into the chest of the closest demon, momentarily stunning the preternaturally powerful hell beast. “Sorry dude, I know it ain’t your fault!”

   The demon pulled out the arrows from its chest, “then why in the darkest depths of Hell did you shoot me?!” Its voice was soft with a gentle west coast accent, a startling contrast to the four-inch fangs and solid black eyes. It glared at the archer and hurled the arrows at Captain America's shield where they skittered off the vibranium and drove themselves into the street, a wall, and a stop sign respectively.

   “Hawkeye, why are you _apologizing_ to the demons?” Steve tossed his shield at one of the demons where it bounced back, barely winding the hell spawn.

   Clint rolled his eyes and jumped, preventing a demon from taking out his kneecaps. “They want to be here even less than I do!” He dodged a clod of flying concrete and loosed a stun arrow in the direction of the demon that had thrown it.

   “They’re _demons_!” Steve sounded almost scandalized, but Clint didn’t have time to think about that, he was busy getting bodily thrown by the third demon the priest had summoned. Clint tucked and rolled, thanking his time spent in circuses for his ability to spring back to his feet while shooting. 

   “Hey, demons are people too or somethin’ like that.” Clint shrugged, wishing he’d made some arrows to fight or contain demons. Rock salt or holy water. Maybe blessed iron, like church nails. Yeah, something like that. 

   “Yeah man, we’re people too!” The lead demon snarled, its voice a veritable rumble of thunder, and with a flick of the wrist, it was tossing Captain America to the side like a toy. “Arrow boy is right!”

   “Not helping your case here, dude.” Clint loosed another set of arrows pinning the priest to the wall of the church by their surplice and cassock. “Now, can we get this over and done with?”   

   Tony popped off the faceplate of his ironman suit, “yeah, this guy must be possessed or something to be summoning _demons_.” 

   Clint turned to Tony, “you know that demons can’t summon other demons topside, right? Even if they possess a human, they can’t work that kinda mojo.” He ignored Tony’s sputterings of protest and stepped up to the trapped priest, tapping an arrow against their white amice. “Now, tell me why the hell a priest is summoning hell spawn. I mean, these aren’t your standard low-level demons here, these are futzing Hell Soldiers! That’s real heavy magic. Dark magic.”

   “The true believers will stand after the cleansing! People must be shown the way! None shall halt the-” The priest’s vaguely religious rant was forcibly stopped as Clint pushed the razor sharp point into the soft flesh of the priest's throat. 

   “Enough of that.” The marksman scowled, pressing the arrowhead deeper into the priest's neck, beads of red blood welling to the surface and dripping onto the once pristine amice. “You summoned them, now banish them.”   

   The priest struggled uselessly against his trappings. “Never! Hellfire must raze the earth and only the strong will remain!”

   “Hey guys, don’t look for a second.” Clint kept his arrow leveled at the priest's throat and drew back his other fist and slammed it into their face. “Send them back, now!”

   Stuttering around a mouth filled with blood, the priest mumbled the releasing phrase. “ _Exafanísou, gónos ton pesónton próta. Epistrofí sta epípeda tis kólasis apó tin opoía échete xepidísei_ ,” and the demons vanished from existence, thick rolling clouds of black smoke and the permeating stench of sulphur the only sign that they had ever been there. 

   Clint grinned wolfishly, “now was that so hard?” He turned away from the priest, actively ignoring their demands to be released and instead tossed his unused arrow back into its quiver. “Whoo, that was great! Good work team! We done here? I need to go home and figure out what to do with all those Girl Scout cookies? Nat, you want some?” Clint turned to Steve, “hey Cap, you want some Girl Scout cookies?”

   Ignoring Clints questions, Steve peered into the church the priest had been summoning demons in. From the outside, it looked like a traditional church, but the interior told a vastly different story. The crucifixes on the wall were drenched in what seemed to be congealed blood, and the candles were glowing a sickening shade of green. In the center of the altar, where there should have been nothing but peace there was a disemboweled goat with the entrails spread with perverse purpose.

   Clint noticed Steves silence and stepped up beside him. “Well, that’s certainly not kosher!” He grinned, trying not to laugh at his own shitty joke.

   Steve scowled, “did you just…? Damnit, now’s not the time for jokes, Clint!”    

   “Hey, no profanity in the house of the Lord? I mean, the ground certainly isn’t consecrated anymore, that ritual would’ve messed with any blessing that had been in place here so…” Clint shrugged. “Maybe call the Vatican?” The archer grinned and clapped his team leader on the back before turning to the team. “Don’t worry about it boss, SHIELD has a brand new division just for the arcane arts; they’ll get this cleaned up in no time flat!” And maybe they really would call in a serious favor with the Vatican...  

   Steve shook his head, “Alright then, team debrief back at the tower.” 

   Clint pouted, “Ugh, do I have to?”  

   Tony closed back his faceplate, getting ready for his takeoff. “yeah you do, Hawkeye. Besides, I’ve got some questions for you.”  

   The archer rolled his eyes, “oh I’m sure you do, tin can.”

***

   Back at Avengers Tower, the team collected around a table for debriefing, far less bruised than they had been from any fights in a long while but bruised all the same. Hot cups of coffee sat in front of each member, thin white tendrils of steam slowly rising in lazy patterns before dissipating into nothingness.   

   Clint sat with his feet propped up on the table, ignoring the steady stares of his teammates, instead taking a slow sip of his coffee. “So, anyone see any good movies lately?” The marksman smirked, knowing that everyone had questions about how he knew so much about demons. He chuckled when he they remained silent, “is that a no then?” 

   “Why the hell do you know demons?” Tony broke the tense silence, indignance lacing his every word. “Seriously, why the fuck do you know so much about demons?”  

   “I hang out with you, shouldn’t that be answer enough?” Clint grinned, hoping he could deflect the upcoming questions with crude jokes and insults. But it wasn't likely.

   The inventor ran a hand through his hair, a wild look in his eyes. “Is nobody else worried about this? I feel like we should be worried about this!”  

   Natasha waved her hand absently, “you learn not to question the things Clint knows after a while.” She sipped at her coffee while leveling a knowing gaze at the archer before speaking again. “Like that time in Venice, you went undercover as a gondolier?” 

   “Ah, Venice,” Clint spoke softly as if entranced by memories centering around gentle waves of water and the bustle of the supposedly charming city. He scowled as he spoke once more, his voice suddenly harsh. “Venice is futzing disgusting!”

   Tony glared, “that it may be, but Steve, I’m sure _you_ want to know why he knows so much about demons!”

   “I do, actually.” Steve shrugged, “what, I have questions!”

   “What kind of questions? Because I'm not telling you where I met my first demon. But I will tell you this; if you think someone’s a demon, don’t shove a cross in their face, not all demons are affected! Say “ _Christo_ ” first, or try and test them with iron or salt.” Clint shook his head, “I didn’t always know this, but now I do! Trial and error my friend, trial, and error. Well, more error than anything else really.”

   “Well, that’s good to know.” Steve looked worried, “how did you know that those ‘demons’ didn’t want to be fighting us? And are they even demons?”

   The archer frowned, trying to answer the first question without worrying his teammates. “Because demons hate humans. They hate us a lot. They _despise_ us to the point where if they don’t have to be around us they won’t!” Clint shrugged, “I mean, not _all_ of them hate us, but the vast majority… They blame us for their place in life. A while back someone said something along the lines of Humans being the fine line between heaven and hell. Didn’t really make any sort of sense to me, but I’m sure it makes sense to them.”

   Steve nodded, “it makes a bit of sense, what with demons supposedly hating angels above all else and us humans being the ‘chosen ones.’”  

   Tony frowned, “you’re saying all of this like you have firsthand experience, Clint.”

   “Everyone seems to think that people who make demon deals are all monsters. Not everyone wants money or fame.” Clint grimaced into his cup of coffee before continuing, hoping his answer was vague enough so no one knew what he had done all those years ago. “Sometimes people get down on their luck and need a little help. More help than they can get from anyone else.” He sighed softly, lost in memories full of muted yellow lights and dark shadow.    

   Tony narrowed his eyes, his mind racing to understand what he was being told. “What are you trying to say?”   

   Clint shrugged. “I'm just saying what I know.” The team members seated around the table could tell that their archer was uncomfortable, but aside from one of them, they didn't know why.  

   “And why do you know this?” Tony tried to keep the frustration out of his voice and failing.  

   Again Clint shrugged, a little anxious now. “It's just what I know, Tony, don't get bent out of shape about this. I know circus shit, and I know demons, what’s wrong with that?” 

   Steve frowned, “Clint, Tony is just worried about you, especially with how little we know about these so called demons.” The team leader crossed his arms, trying to make sense of this new information and how it fit into what he already thought he knew.  

   “Cap, they're not ‘so called demons’ they're real. Don’t ask how I know, just trust me, kay? They’re real demons, and they’re both better and worse than anything you can ever imagine.” The marksman smiled ruefully, he had once thought all demons were evil once, but he had learned.  

   “How can they be better? They’re demons!” Steve sounded outraged at the very thought that a soulless _thing_ could be better than a living human being. 

   Clint somehow leaned even further back in his chair, rocking it back onto two legs. “Hey, demons are people too! Well, you know what I mean.”  

   “No, I don’t know what you mean, demons are evil!”

   Natasha rolled her eyes at the repetitive arguments, “you should trust Clint on this, he’s been right about all things demon as far as I’ve known him.” 

   “Thank you, Nat.” The marksman grinned before continuing. “Demons aren’t evil; they’re just _demons_. You don’t call a wolf evil for killing a deer or a squirrel!"

   Steve frowned, “are you saying we’re prey?”

   “Okay, bad example.” Clint pulled the electric purple fountain pen from his pocket, his eyes clouded with emotion before he pushed it back into his pocket. “But demons do what they do because it’s just their nature. They don’t _choose_ to do this kind of thing, not like people do. And they’re not really hurting anyone.” The archer paused, “well, Carnage demons aside of course.”   

   Natasha smirked, draining her cup of coffee before speaking. “Oh yeah, I met one of them once. Decent guy.”

   “Where the hell did you meet a Carnage demon? Wait, was it Rô? They owe me ten bucks! And they're not a decent guy, they're a _bastard_! A terrible guy!” Clint glared at his Shield partner, remembering the bet he had made with the Carnage demon. Rô had bet that he couldn’t take the wings off a fly with a toothpick from fifty paces. They had been proven wrong.  

   Natasha carefully kept her face from showing any sort of expression, laughing internally at her friend's outrage.

  “Ugh, it was totally Rô, wasn’t it?” Clint shrugged, tossing his hands into the air in defeat. “Whatever, I’ll get them next time.”

   Tony shook his head, “can we get back to business now?”

   “No, we already finished the debrief, I turned in my report to SHIELD, I’m going home to watch Dog Cops and try to get rid of all those Girl Scout cookies Wade made me buy.” Clint took his feet off the table and let his chair slam back onto all four legs. He stood, stretching sore muscles and turned to the door. “Now, if you'll let me, I'm going now."

   Natasha frowned, “wait. Hold on for just a second Clint.”

   “What."

   The ex-assassin smiled softly, “do you have any Samoas?”  

   Clint sighed, running his hands over his face. “You can have the box Wade threw at my head.”

   Natasha smirked, "nice."

 

***

 

   “Come on Nat, you can tell me!” Tony all but whined, trying to convince Natasha to share her insider intel.

   “I can, but I believe I have already said that it’s not my story to tell.”

   “Please? Come on; we know how everyone on the team got so good, except for how Clint became the world's greatest marksman.”

   “Again, it’s not my story; it’s his.” Natasha smirked, “besides, I’m sure he’s told all of you _something_.”

   Tony blinked, “he told me he trained on a frozen mountaintop in Nepal with a one-armed man. I don’t think I believe him.”

   Natasha sighed wistfully. “I remember the day he told Coulson he was the bastard demigod son of Apollo.” She smiled, the memory of that day a sweet and beautiful one. “Coulson just about had an aneurysm when Clint started walking around the base in a purple toga demanding we bow to him and provide offerings. He actually had quite a few of the trainees following him around...” She trailed off, drawing herself back into reality.

   “Is he?” Tony wasn’t sure _what_ to believe anymore. Clint knew demons; he might very well be a demigod!

   “Hmm?”

   “Is that how it works?” Tony asked again, his confusion evident on his face. “Is Clint the son of Apollo?”

   The ex-assassin rolled her eyes, “of course he’s not you nitwit.”

   “Oh, so how did he get so good?”

   “Go ask someone else; I’m sure he told someone _something._ ” Natasha knew Clint hadn’t told anyone but herself the truth of his talent, but she was sure he’d given a crazy explanation to every team member, and she was going to relish in the confusion that it would cause. “Go ask Steve or Bruce. Or anyone but me.”

   “Ugh, fine, I’ll go ask Spangles.” Tony scowled, he wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted. He turned and headed to the common room; Steve was almost always there.

   Tony grumbled to himself as he walked, curse ex-KGB spies and their secrets! And curse crazy archers too for being so enigmatic. The inventor turned the final corner and stepped up to the man out of time who was sitting in the common room and glaring at what appeared to be Fox News.

   “Are you watching Fox News?”

   Steve frowned, his voice full of righteous indignation. “This isn’t news; this is fascism! And I know from fascism!” Or maybe it was patriotism that filled the other man's voice; Tony wasn’t really sure he wanted to know the difference.

   “Okay...” Tony didn’t think he was prepared to hear one of Captain America’s patented ‘Reporters are supposed to Report the News, not Invent It’ speeches again. He wasn’t sure he could take it without being drunk. “Hey Steve, did Clint ever tell you how he got so good?”

   The super soldier switched off the tv before answering. “He told me he found a magic lamp and got three wishes from the genie inside. I don’t believe that in the slightest.” Steve was willing to believe in a lot of things, aliens, genius inventors in suits of armor, a man that could become a monster at a moment's notice. But there was no way in hell that he could believe Clint’s story. It had to be a lie. “He also said he used the first two wishes to become Lord of the Internet and the ultimate prankster.”

   “Huh.” Tony paused, “I believe the first two, he’s got an amazing online presence and is constantly getting retweeted. As for the other… I mean, usually people put air horns under chairs, he put a can of freaking _whipped cream_ under mine! I couldn’t get the shit out of the fabric; I had to throw out the chair!”

   “What else did he do? I know he didn’t stop at one prank.” Steve had been on the receiving end of Clint’s pranks before, such as the levitating hot dog incident. He didn’t like thinking about that for very long.

   “Oh man, one time after a fight he rigged a bucket full of jello over my armor station. The moment I landed I got covered in a giant blob of jello!” The inventor smiled, “there was chopped up fruit in it too! Must’ve put some effort into that prank.” Looking back, it wasn’t a bad memory, but at the time he had been on the edge of murderous.

   Steve raised his eyebrow, “really? Now I kinda believe the story he told me…”

   “But I don’t.” Tony shrugged, “want to come with me and find out what ridiculous lies he told everyone?”

   “Sounds good to me.”

   The duo headed to Bruce’s lab, chatting idly about nothing in particular. Weather, Twitter, the horrific shitshow that is American politics. Light subjects that everyone can enjoy!

   Once they entered the lab, Tony waved at Steve to be silent, and the inventor snuck up on his quarry.

   “Hey, Bruce! How are you science buddy?” Tony clapped the physicist on the shoulder, almost launching the other man out of his seat. “What outrageous story did our archer weave to you?”

   “Excuse me?” Bruce had been far too startled to listen to whatever Tony was saying, and he said as much as soon as he got his breath back.

   Steve attempted to translate Tony’s continuing babble. “Apparently Clint told all of the team members a different story of how he got so good. We’re trying to figure out what he told everyone and try to piece together the truth.”

   “Ah, okay.” Bruce shifted awkwardly in his chair. “When I asked he told me he was…” He trailed off, cheeks tinged with pink. “He said he was the human embodiment of Cupid. I think he was messing with me, because whenever I’m,” he gestured, attempting to convey the idea of being the Hulk, “you know, I call him Cupid.”

   Tony blinked, adding this new information the rapidly growing stockpile of confusing Clint Barton information. “Huh, that’s actually the least believable one so far!”

   “What did he tell you, Tony?”

   The inventor repeated what he’d been told. “He said he had to climb the mountains of Nepal and trained with a one-armed man under the light of the moon.”

   “How do you shoot a bow with only one arm?” Bruce waved his own question aside, “nevermind, what about you Steve?”

   Steve shook his head, “just imagine Aladdin with Clint.”

   Bruce blinked in confusion. “No, I don’t think I want to do that.”

   Tony piped up with what he considered to be an important question. “So, have you been pranked by Clint yet?”

   The physicist nodded sagely, “He replaced all of my equipment with children's chemistry sets and the next week he somehow taped all of my lab, even the desk, onto the ceiling. I got nothing done that day. I mean, how could I?”

   “Where did he even get the tape to do that? Nevermind,” Tony shook his head. “Want to help us investigate this insanity?”

   Bruce stared back down at his paperwork, “I really need to fill out these requisition forms…”

   “Come on, you can do that later,” Tony cajoled. “Take a break; you deserve it!”

   The physicist rolled his eyes and dropped the stack of papers back onto his desk. “Alright fine, where are we going first?” He’d tried before not to get pulled into Tony’s insanity, and every time he failed. He might as well just go along with it this time around.

   Steve gestured towards the general direction of the team gym, “let’s ask someone who should have experience with lies.”

   The trio stepped down the hall, sharing stories of different pranks Hawkeye had played on them, which ended in laughter when Steve recounted the tale of his living quarters being converted into a broom closet while he was on his morning run. He didn’t know how Clint had built those walls so fast, but he would never forget the feeling of walking into his room for a shower only to be faced with a collection of mops and brooms instead. And the worst part was that everything had been a different shade of purple! Like the very idea of the color purple and the entire ultraviolet spectrum had created horrible bastard children with each other and those bastard children all lived together in a horrific parody of a family.

   As the three approached the door of the gym, they already heard the telltale sounds of Thor mid workout.

   “I just hope he’s wearing a shirt this time; I saw too much last time I needed to ask a question.” Tony frowned in mock disgust; he wouldn’t say he didn’t enjoy the view, he just preferred to know when it would be seen.

   Bruce nodded, he too had seen more than his fair share of the Asgardian warrior. “Yeah, he’s certainly very… is confident the right word? It doesn’t feel like the right word.”

   “No, confident isn’t a strong enough descriptor. Maybe assertive?”

   Steve interrupted the conversation between the two scientists. “The english language doesn't have a proper adjective to describe Thor, believe me, I’ve looked. Besides, we’re here.”

   “My friends! Have you come to engage in rigorous training?” Thankfully Thor was wearing a shirt this time, however, due to his Asgardian physic, it didn’t really cover much.

   “No, we just had a quick question.”

   “Of course! I shall do my best to answer any of your queries.”

   “Okay, no need to sound so disappointed,” Tony quipped.

   “Don’t be sarcastic, Tony.” Bruce sighed before turning back to Thor. “Did you ever ask Hawkeye how he got to be the World’s Greatest Marksman?”

   “That I have friend Banner,” Thor nodded sagely, “however I am not certain his answer was entirely truthful.”

   Steve rolled his eyes, “you and the rest of us.”

   Bruce waved away Steve’s comment. “Shush. Anyway, Thor, what was his answer?”

   “Barton claimed to be blessed by the spirit of Orion. I know not who this Orion is, but I doubt Barton’s claims of blessing.” The Asgardian frowned before shrugging. “Yet I may be in the wrong; I don’t know how you mortals receive your talents.”

   Tony frowned, adding Thor’s story to the rest. “Huh. Okay, not the weirdest thing he’s said.” The inventor discreetly pushed the other two members of the trio towards the door, “you just go ahead and continue with your workout, buddy. Bye!” He pushed the other once again, whispering uncomfortably, “go go go, I don’t want to be in the gym with him, he has Asgardian strength body odor!”

   Steve and Bruce rolled their eyes, turning back out of the gym and heading out to find the next part of Clint’s story. Tony debated calling Fury ask, but knowing Clint he would have told a tall tale to Fury as well. He grabbed his phone as the trio walked, sending a text to Maria Hill.

   A moment later his phone rang, and he answered the call, “uh, 'yellow?”

   “Stark what the hell do you want?”

   “Hold on, let me put you on speaker phone.” He waved the other two men to stop and held his phone out between them. “Alright, I had a question for you.”

   “Do I even want to know?” Hill sounded exasperated, most likely not expecting to have to deal with Tony Stark texting her in the middle of the day.

   “Yes? Maybe?” Tony shrugged, “doesn’t matter, I’m still asking.”

   “Fine, what is it?”

   Tony hoped Hill wouldn’t hang up before answering his question. “What story did Clint tell you when you asked him how he got to be such a good shot?”

   A strangled laugh came through the speakers. “Oh, _that_... I’m sorry, but I can’t repeat what he said without laughing.” Another laugh. “Sorry, but, heh, he said that.. _fuck_ , that aliens granted him his aim in return for all of the world's information about Lady Gaga.” Hill burst into laughter on her end of the call, another voice coming through the speakers as she did.

   “Are you telling them about Clint’s crazy ass Lady Gaga story?” There was a shuffling on the phone and Hills laughter faded into the background. “Stark, this is Fury.”

   Tony looked up in a panic, the rest of the trio wearing matching expressions. “...director… hey. How’s it going?”

   “I‘m only gonna say this once, so listen up.”

   The trio nodded, even though they knew Fury couldn’t really see them.

   “Agent Barton told me he was a motherfucking _fairy changeling_.” There was a click as the call was ended and the trio stood in silence before breaking into raucous laughter.

   “ _A changeling?_ ”

   “Lady Gaga?!”

   Tony leaned against the wall, shoulders shaking as he laughed, “holy hell, that’s great. That’s ridiculous but so great.”

   Bruce chuckled, trying to get his breathing back under control. “So… do you think it was aliens or _fucking fairies_?” He fell back against the wall, laughing uncontrollably once more.

   Steve wiped tears of laughter out of his eyes, “I don’t know, I don’t think I even  _want_ to know!”

   Tony threw his hands up in mock frustration, grinning as he spoke. “We still have more people to ask!”

   “Go on without me; I can’t take anymore of this insanity!” Bruce slid down the wall to sit on the floor clutching his sides, chuckling to himself all the while. “Leave me behind! Remember who you are!”

   Tony blinked in surprise, standing up a little straighter. “Did you just Lion King us?”

   Bruce shrugged, “maybe, maybe not. You'll never know."

   The inventor turned back to the patriot next to him. "Did he just Lion King us, Steve?"

   “He did.” Steve smiled, “come on Bruce; you’re not getting out of this that easy.”

   “No, don’t make me!” The physicist pushed himself back to his feet and fell in step with the rest of the trio. “Who do we have left to ask, anyway?”

   “Wanda, Vision, and Bucky.” Tony turned a corner into the communal dining room where all of the three were seated. “Oh, what luck!”

   “What.” Wanda tapped at her phone, not even looking up as the trio traipsed into the dining area. “Go away.”

   Vision blinked, his face as impassive as it always was. “Hello, Tony.”

   Bucky sat up in his seat, frowned and glared, “oh, it’s just you guys.” He rolled his eyes overdramatically before slumping back down and resting his chin in his hand. “What do you want?”

   Tony waved, “I have questions!”

   Bucky smirked, “if you need to ask, then you’re not old enough to know yet.”

   “Wait, what?” Tony shook his head, “nevermind, I have the same question for all three of you.”

   Wanda shared a conspiratorial wink with Bucky, “if it’s a sex thing then no, none of us are interested.”

   Tony paused, an uncomfortable expression on his face. “It’s not, no, just no.”

   Steve pushed Tony out of the way, “it’s not a sex thing, thank goodness. No, we’re just investigation whatever random thing Clint told people when asked how his aim got so good.”

   Wanda nodded, still staring at her phone, “he told me he was the immortal Robin Hood.”

   Bucky smirked, still sitting with his chin in his hand. “He told me that he was the reincarnation of William Tell then chased me around with an apple saying he had to shoot it off of my head. I couldn’t let that happen, so I climbed into the vents.” He frowned, a look of confusion on his face. “He followed me, though, scurried in after me and cornered me in the vents then he fucking threw the apple at my head. Absolutely terrifying!”

   Bruce shrugged, “I believe it:”

   Steve nodded in agreement, “yeah, me too.”

   “What about you, Vision?” The inventor turned to the android, “what tall tale did our archer weave, wait, no. Weaving is for spiders.”

   “When I asked how it was possible he shot with one hundred percent accuracy, a statistical impossibility, by the way, he told me that he had sold his soul to Satan.” Vision paused, the perpetually blank expression on his face lending to the confusion of his story. “I am not sure about the existence of a human soul, or the existence of an ultimate evil, but I know for certain that Barton was not telling the truth. However, due to his behavior, an outside force was definitely involved.”

   “Okay…” Tony frowned, turning back to the original trio. “So aliens, demons or fairies, then?”

   Steve chuckled, remembering the madness of earlier. “The big three, eh?”

   A loud knock on the window alerted the group to a newcomer. An unwanted newcomer with a red and black mask and set of katanas who had rappeled down the side of the tower. The villain turned mercenary turned antihero pulled a glass cutter from on of his many pouches, cutting a small circle into the glass and sticking his head through the hole.

   “Hey, I heard through the wine-vine that you were discussing Hawkeye’s origin story!”

   Tony blinked, “hey, I have to pay for that!”

   “Wade, what are you doing here?” Steve shook his head, he had a grudging respect for the other man, but sometimes he wondered if Wade was just completely insane. Right now was one of those times.

   “Not sure, but Clint told me that he ate nothing but arrows for an entire year and now he can’t miss!” The masked man shrugged, “I just felt you needed to know!” He moved to leave, readjusting his grip on the rappel line. “Oh, and no, there weren’t fairies or aliens involved. Just thought I’d narrow down your choices for ya. Bye-sies!”

   The group sat in silence that was broken moments later by Tony asking, “so, I guess that leaves demons as the only option then?”


	4. Same Direction

   It’s a Saturday, a week from the day the demon disappeared into the night. So far, Clint had heard nothing, and he assumed the worst. The hell spawn that had granted him his impossible aim was dead, and he still wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

   Sure, he felt bad that they were gone, but they were a _demon_. Literal Hellspawn! Then again, a demon with a conscience and emotions. It was just complicated and an ethical conundrum he wasn’t qualified to answer. As he’d said before, demons are people too and each one is unique.

   Maybe demon hunting was a bad thing, but maybe there was some nuance. But then again, Clint wasn’t a demon hunter so he wouldn’t know. But even if there was some sort of subtle secret that made it alright, he wasn’t sure he could support it.

   But none of that was what he should be focusing on right now; he really should be focusing on the mandatory interview SHIELD had set up for the him with the local news after some footage of him beating up that priest had been released to the internet and subsequently, the media. Now there were calls to disband the Avengers for being _‘anti-Christian and anti-American.’_  Damn Fox News and the rest of them. Damn them all straight to the hell they threaten everyone else with.

   Clint crossed and uncrossed his arms uncomfortably, trying not to let the steady glare of the news anchor rattle him. He was tempted to just turn off his hearing aids and start spouting random Barton BullshitTM as the camera rolled, but that wouldn’t help his case much. Instead, he practiced his smile for the cameras and resisted the temptation to throttle the hardcore Republican news anchor.

   He bounced his leg nervously; _this_ was why he preferred to work covert ops. No cameras and certainly no _interviews_. “Is this live? Are we live?”

   Behind the cameras and in the shadows, the stage manager waved their hand to catch everyone’s attention, “all quiet on set, we’re rolling in three, two, _one_.”

   The news anchor adjusted his tacky tie and shuffled his notecards. “This is Bradly Rather of channel five, and this is our live interview with Hawkeye, the secretive, and dare I say, deceptive, Avenger.” The anchor turned away from the camera to face his victim, I mean, interviewee. ”So, Clint Barton, why exactly did you beat the living hell out of that priest? Do you hate America?”

   “Living Hell?” The World’s Greatest Marksman smirked, “uh, was that pun intended?”

   The news anchor scowled, “no, it was not. Now, how about an answer to my questions?”

   “Well, as you can see from the footage, that priest was summoning demons. I don’t get why you’re making a big deal out of this,” he shrugged, gesturing vaguely as he spoke. “He summoned demons, I punched him, and they were sent back! And _no_ , I don’t hate America, though I have plenty of excuses to...” Clint sighed internally; he should not have said that last bit, he really shouldn’t have said that.

   “But you _still_ punched a priest!” The anchor leaned forward, gesturing with their pen. “Do you not see what’s wrong with that?”

   “No, I honestly don’t! I punched him and saved the city and the _world_ by doing so!” Clint rolled his eyes, “I just really don’t see what everyone’s problem is with that!”

   “It’s anti-American!”

   “It was _pro-human_!”

   The news anchor looked at Clint with disdain, “what, are you some kind of retard or something?”

   “You know what?” Clint scowled and stood abruptly, “I don’t have time for this bull shit, I’m outta here. If you ever find yourself facing down a villain or common crook in a back alley and you need rescuing, you can count me out. Ask _Spiderman_ , or something!” The marksman stormed off the sound stage and pushed his way past the still rolling cameras. He swung open the stage door and was immediately swarmed by a crowd of reporters and their camera crews.

   Dozens of microphones and camera lenses tracked his every movement, and he was confident that even without his hearing aids he still would have been able to hear the roar of questions flying at him.

_“Hawkeye, a quote for the Daily Bugle!”_

_“Is it true that you’re dating Black Widow?”_

_“Are you going to be kicked out of the Avengers?”_

   The archer stepped forward faster, not glancing behind himself as he broke into a full run, leaving the crowd of news people in his wake. He knew this would end badly, and now he was running through the streets hiding from _news reporters_ of all things.

   Embarrassing.

   Clint turned down a narrow alleyway and climbed the first fire escape he saw. He should have known that the news network was trying to set him up for whatever it was they wanted to blame him for. Being anti-Christian, anti-American, anti _whatever_ , it didn’t really matter to him. Clint hopped up onto the rooftop, breathing heavily. Not from the running, not from the climb.

   The archer took a few calming breaths and stared down at the city. He always did see better from a distance.

   “So, the world’s greatest marksman is hiding out from the _media_ ?” The voice was quiet and silky with a strong southern accent undercutting their words. “ _‘Ya’ never run from anythin’ if you can still make a difference.’_ Ya’ taught me that one, remember?”

   Clint relaxed his grip on the knife he always kept on him, he didn’t even remember grabbing it, it must have been instinctual. “Rô… what are you doing in the city.”

   The carnage demon stepped forwards on clawed feet, long red leather coat flowing and shifting behind him even without the wind. “The crossroads demon who gave ya’ yer aim is dead, may he burn forever in the lava flows, but yer contract isn’t up far as anyone can tell.”

   “So you’re here on business, then?”

   “What, can’t a demon visit a friend without being questioned?”

   “We’re not friends, Rô.” Clint smiled, the conversation taking his mind off of what the reporter had said. “Besides, you still owe me money.”

   “I do, don’t I?” Rô grinned, flashing yellow fangs, “nevermind that, I’m just here because I…” The carnage demon trailed off, emotions unreadable in his glowing yellow eyes. “I worry sometimes, yer just a human after all. Nothing to stop ya from spilling hell’s secrets to yer fellow human filth.”

   “Yeah, everyone seems to worry about me for some reason.” Clint knew what Rô meant behind the insults. “I really am more than capable of taking care of myself, you know.”

   “I know that Clint, but Hell is changing and I was worried.” The demon grinned, “not for ya, but for mah own sake.”

   “Ah, yes, of course.” The archer rolled his eyes, “you demons gotta look out for yourselves, right?”

   “Sure thang. But while I’m here, might as well spend some time with ya’, right?”

   Clint shrugged and watched the sun begin to set. “Might as well.”

   Rô frowned, not understanding humanity's obsession with needing to see the sun rise and fall. But they understood that it had a deeper meaning to their human friend, so they stood beside and watched.

   Watched as the clouds shifted from the pale blue and greys of dusk and watched as the sky became light up with the bright fire of the sunset, faded pinks and burning oranges lacing the cloudscape and spreading like oil upon water.

   It was only a few minutes later, but to the duo, it felt like an impossible eternity of change and wonder.

   They watched the last glow of orange in the clouds fade to a subtle red laced with the black of night. Rô knew the night would come soon and while they were a high-level Carnage Demon, he was worried about his fragile human compeer.  “I heard there’s a demon burger joint down in Bed-Stuy, want to check it out?”

   The world's greatest marksman smirked and leaned closer to his demonic companion. “As long as I’m not the one on the menu.”

   “No guarantees on that.”

 

***

 

   Rô stirred the cup of whatever they had ordered, and slowly took a sip as the dull buzz of the diners other demonic and human patrons hummed in the background. “How’s Nat?”

   Clint shrugged, inspecting his burger for any signs of humanity or intelligence. “Good, you know, I actually had no idea that you two knew each other until a few days ago.”

   “She’s a scary woman, well for a human.”

   The archer blinked in confusion, “you spend almost all of your time surrounded by literal harpies, and you think _Nat_ is scary?”

   The Carnage demon grinned, fangs darkened by the blood red of his drink. “Of course I do, I’m a demon, but I’m not stupid.”

   Clint grinned over his burger, already having forgotten why he had been so upset earlier. “How did you even meet her?”

   “Odd story really, well, not exactly odd, more horrifying, but still…” Rô tossed back their drink, “it was back in Sirmium, er wait, ya know it as Serbia, but for a while there it was Yugoslavia.” The demon rolled its eyes, “keeping up with yer geography is quite ridiculous, ya know? Anyways, I was there on business for the Yugoslav Wars of the 90’s, needed to keep the body count high; an’ Nat was there on her own business.”

   “And let me guess, her business was the opposite of yours?”

   “Sure thang.” Rô shuddered, “that war… I’m a demon but you humans are far more capable of evil than I. Nat was killing off commanders of both sides, trying to end the conflict. We would meet a few times, she killing military personnel, me just killing. But she kept at it, trying to turn the tide… but we all know how that ended. Yugoslavia was broken apart, the country rotting from within with corruption and contempt.”

   “So you met Nat in the middle of one of Europe's most brutal wars?” Clint shrugged, “Sounds about right to me.” The archer fell into a comfortable silence, reminiscing of his first time meeting Natasha. Before he was an Avenger, before he was SHIELD, back when he was still a mercenary they had had a brief run in and then hadn’t seen each other for almost fifteen years. The rest of that second meeting was highly classified SHIELD intel, locked up in a vault only accessible to the boss himself.

   Rô snarled at the demonic waitress the moment Clint looked away, not liking the way the half-Lamia was eyeing their friend. The demon frowned as they watched the archer turn into their own mind and tune out the world around them. They were used to Clint doing that sort of thing, but never before in a public setting. Rô wasn’t willing to admit it, but they were worried about their companion.

   Humans might not all be fragile little things, but even the strongest of them could shatter with one small push. The Carnage Demon turned their mind back to the past, to the first time they had met the World’s Greatest Marksman.

 

***

Ten Years Earlier, Four Years After Clint’s Luck Took a Turn for the Worse and Fourteen Years After His First Attempt to Make a Demon Deal

 

   Fresh air filled the lungs of the Hell Spawn as they closed their portal and slowly approached the once grand “Henksling’s Traveling Circus and Fair of Wonders.” The demon rolled their sulphurous yellow eyes and stepped forward on clawed feet, searching for their target.

   A young human had made a deal with a crossroads representative, yet their soul had not been collected for over four years after the due date! The demon huffed, they hated the bureaucracy of their job at times. They would much rather be playing around in the battlefields of the Middle East or the warring zones of Africa. Hell be damned, they would even take a Black Friday shopping mall mob fight over a soul collection!

   The demon slunk through the lengthening shadows of the twilight and headed towards the dirty and tattered tent his target was supposed to be sleeping in. Rô pushed through the tent flaps, faded red cloth closing behind them, darkness enveloping the interior once more.

   The demon crept up to the small cot in the tent and extended their claws, preparing to tear the flesh of their victim. "Alright then, human filth, let's get this..." Rô stared down at the empty bed, blinking in their confusion. "...get this over with?" They searched the dark corners of the tent for their target. Maybe they should have read the briefing instead of telling their supervisor that they had it covered... Rô scowled and was ready to slink into a dark corner to wait for his next opportunity before they shrugged and stepped out of the tent and into the fresh air of the faded circus.

  Rô turned up the collar of their leather coat, curling their lip distastefully at the blatant displays of humanity all around them. With a simple vanishing charm, all human eyes saw nothing out of the ordinary, just blank space or a warping of the air.

   Well, _almost_ all eyes.

_"Clint, good show tonight!"_

_"Yeah, you really had 'em riveted, Barton!"_

   Clint Barton? Wasn't Clint Barton who they were supposed to take down to hell? The Hellspawn cast their gaze onto the human and their crowd of admirers and friends.

   Was that really who they were here to take? They didn't look like an Un-Souled, they still had some fight in them. Some life in their eyes. Ro frowned and rummaged in their pockets for their scrying glass. They needed to make a call. But as Ro reached into their pocket, they found themselves face to face with their target, blue eyes steadily staring into yellow.

   The human narrowed their eyes, taking in the sight before them. “You’re a demon, aren’t you?”

   “Hcccccccchhhh...” The demon hissed awkwardly as they blinked rapidly in shock, why wasn’t this human afraid of them? How had they even _seen_ them with their charm cast?

   The human continued speaking, “I don’t know how nobody else here can see you, but you need to leave this place or I will make you leave.”

   Rô shook their head, clearing their mind and lining up their thoughts. “Clinton Francis Barton, yer soul collection is at this date four years past due and without further conversation, please prepare yerself for yer Un-Souling.” They cheered in their own mind, it had been eons since they had needed to recite the Soul Collection Introduction, and they were surprised they still knew it.

   Clint blinked in confusion. “What?”

   “Ya made a deal with a crossroads representative, correct?” So far so good!

   “Yeah, why?”

   The Carnage Demon continued on his script, getting ready for the big finale. And in this case, finale meant murder. “And ya are still in possession of yer mortal soul, is this also correct?”

   “Yes…?” Clint frowned, “I don’t like the direction this is taking.”

   “Well, to put it inta terms ya understand, I’m here for yer soul.”

   Clint shook his head, “well, no thank you.”

   Rô frowned, this wasn’t how the training plays had gone. “Pardon me?”

   “I said no. I’m not going to let you take my soul.”

   “Uhhhh…” The demon frowned, “why? Yer soul ain’t worth shit to ya!”

   “Hey, rude!” Clint grinned, a thought slowly dawning over him. “Hold on, are you a betting man? Um, a betting… _thing_?”

   “I’ve been known to take a wager or two.”

   Clint reached into his pocket and pulled out a toothpick. “If I can hit a fly at thirty paces you’ll let me off the hook, right?” Right, this wasn’t dishonest in the slightest, they’re a demon!

   Rô frowned, they wanted to take this bet. By Lucifer, they wanted to take it, but their boss would have their horns for paperweights if they fucked up this deal. They just had to make sure they couldn’t win. “Make if fifty.”

   The world's greatest marksman grinned rakishly, “you’ve got yourself a deal there, friend.”

 

***

Maybe an Hour of Reminiscing later

 

   Rô blinked themself out of their memories and cast their gaze around them in the almost empty diner. The other demons had trailed out into the night to hunt and to do other demonic things such as do their taxes. Not saying you shouldn’t do your taxes, but demons have a _lot_ to do with taxes.

   Clint smirked, “who would have thought me being a smartass would lead to…” he gestured between the two of them. “Who would have thought it would lead to whatever _this_ is?”  

   “Yeah, guess I really am a betting… _thang._ ”

   “That you are.”

   The two sat in silence before Rô stood, “it’s getting late and there’s supposed ta be vampires out, I’ll teleport ya to yer place.”

   “Wait, there are vamps out there tonight? Gross.” Clint stood and linked arms with his compatriot, “what’s wrong with those damn bloodsuckers, always tapping on my window at night.”

   “...what. They shouldn’t be doin that.” Rô shook their head, “I’ll get ya to yer place and I’ll set up some wards. Fuckin’ vamps.”

   “You’re a good pal, Rô. Well, for a demon.”

   "Yeah, for a demon." They knew what he really meant, even if neither of them would ever admit it.


	5. Out of Control

  There was a green tinged flash of light, and the stink of sulfur and they were back in the apartment, but unfortunately, the duo wasn’t alone. The lights were already on, and Clint and the hellspawn stopped dead in their tracks when they saw most of the Avengers team standing and sitting around the apartment's kitchen island.

  Rô smirked, “well, looks like the vamps managed to get in, eh?”

  “Ooh, bad joke.”

  “Just how it is,” Rô shook their head, “I’m outta here, I’ll set up those wards on my way out.” The demon could feel the hostility in the room and didn’t look forward to sticking around.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Clint frowned, trying to ignore the confused stares from his team. “See you later buddy.”

  “If ya' ever need anything…”The demon paused then shrugged, “well, ya' know how to call if ya' need to.” Rô grinned awkwardly and without further ado, vanished from this physical plane and returned to the sulphur fields of hell. Human drama was not their game; Clint could deal with that on his own.

  “Clint, was that a demon?” Steve stepped forward, eyes ablaze with emotion. “You’re friends with one of those things!?” The patriot couldn't believe the thought of someone he trusted, one of his teammates, one of his _friends_ could be hanging around with a demon.

  “Oh, uh…” The archer shrugged, too tired to argue. “Yes, I guess you could say they’re my friend.”

  Tony stepped forward, pulling out his Stark Phone. “Demons don’t matter right now, have you seen the news lately? You’re the new face of public breakdowns, birdbrain.”

  Clint shrugged again, “Well, that’s not my problem.”

  “You’re right; it’s _my_ problem! I’m the one who got you that damn interview, and you go and tell the anchor to fuck himself! What the hell is it that you're trying to do!? The city wants your head, Barton! People want you off the team! Hell, people want you _dead_!” Tony shook his head, trying to find a way to say what he wanted without shouting. "You need to do something about this, put out a public apology. I can set up a press conference, and a few public appearances to smooth this all over."

  Hawkeye scoffed derisively. "Hell no, that's not gonna happen, tincan."

  Tony sputtered, "did you not hear the part where I said people _want you dead?!_ "

  “Yeah well, what else is new.” Clint avoided looking at the team, letting them argue as he tried his best to ignore them. He reached up to remove his hearing aids, tossing them into his pocket, and picked up a box of Thin Mints from the coffee table. "Lock the door when you leave. Kay, thanks."

  He knew most of the team probably knew he was deaf, but he hadn’t actually _told_ any of them. Sure it was in his medical file, which Stark had most likely hacked, and it was in his original recruitment security file, which Steve _should_ have read.

  And if nobody had read those… well, that wasn’t his fault.

  Clint sat himself on his ancient couch and turned on the tv and immediately stiffened in surprise. Splashed up across the screen in all its technicolor glory was the clip of him shouting at the news anchor and storming off the set. He switched the channel once and immediately changed it again after seeing the clip playing once more. The archer flipped through more channels, the clip playing on each one of them.

  Maybe Tony was right; maybe he _should_ put out some kind of public apology. Then again, he wasn't wrong, and he certainly wasn't sorry.

  The marksman switched over to his Netflix account and put on an episode of Dog Cops, not even needing to read the subtitles having memorized all available episodes long ago.

  Behind him and out of his sight the rest of the Avengers huddled together to try and figure out what was happening with their teammate.

  The Captain lowered his voice so no one outside of the huddle could hear him. Not that Clint could have in the first place. But that doesn't matter right now. Steve spoke softly, words laden with concern. "I'm worried about Clint, ever since this whole thing with demons started he's been acting ...different." The patriot lowered his gaze to the scuffed floor of the tiny apartment, hoping someone else would add on to his thoughts.

  Luckily, Tony picked up the conversation, his voice only a few decibels over the Captain's own. "You're right, Steve, you're right. It's- he's been... withdrawn. He’s been secretive and on the offensive all the time. It's like he's trying to hide something from us."

  Nat sighed, "that's just how Clint always is. You bring up demons, and he goes off into his own head. But him running out of that interview..." The ex-assassin frowned, trying to piece together this most recent puzzle. "I don't know what that was about."

  Tony glanced over at the subject of the conversation, still happily watching Dog Cops, and spoke words that had been troubling him ever since this whole demon debacle had started. "Do you think he's been possessed?!"

  "Tony, Clint is not possessed." Steve frowned, "then again..."

  "You idiots, he's not possessed." Nat crossed her arms in discomfort. "Look, sure I never swore to Clint I would never spill his secrets involving demons, but I don’t like talking about someone behind their back. Literally in this case. But you two are making it nearly impossible." The ex KGB operative glanced back at her friend, knowing that she could say whatever she wanted and there was no way for him ever to hear her. "I'm sure you figured out that his powers came from demons, but you need to know the context..."

  Steve’s heart sank, "Clint really made a deal with demons?" He had hoped his friend hadn’t stooped to the level of bargaining his soul away to the devil, but if this was the case… Tony’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, saying exactly what he had been thinking.

   "Can we still trust him?"

  Nat rolled her eyes as if the two men were absolute imbeciles. Well, _she_ considered them to be imbeciles, but she has _very_ high standards. "Of course you can still trust him, he's still Clint."

  "But don't demons take your soul as payment?" Steve wasn’t sure he was comfortable being around a soulless person. Was that insensitive? Even if it was, he wasn’t changing his mind.

   Nat shook her head, dispelling the captain’s doubts. "They're supposed to, but you know how it is, Clint is always a special case." The red-haired fatale settled in to weave a tangled web of hope fading into tragedy. "Most people made demon deals late into their twenties, or on their deathbed, but you know how Clint is, he always has to be difficult."

  "How old was he?" Steve wasn't even sure how old Clint was now, but it still mattered how old he was when this story began.

   "He was eleven years old when he went down to the crossroads and summoned the demon who would both save him and destroy his life completely."

  Tony'y jaw went slack, "eleven? What kind of kid does that?" Sure, at eleven years old Tony had been attending multiple schools and building robots, but that was something so far away from the world of demons it was almost impossible for him to envision the circumstances necessary to turn to dark magicks.

   "A desperate kid." Nat stood imperceptibly straighter, and a well-trained eye would see clearly she was proud of how her friend had managed to survive against all the odds. "Instead of his soul, the demon took his luck, turning him into a walking magnet for misfortune."

  Steve remained quiet, this new information turning over in his head. "So that's how he knows demons?" He wasn't sure what it was he had expected, but it certainly wasn't _this_.

  Maybe he had expected him to have sold his soul out of greed. Or maybe he had wanted fame. But that hadn’t been it. Steve might not know much about the secretive archer’s life, but for a child to turn to demons, it must have been hard and filled with darkness.

  "Why did he never tell anyone?" Tony was quiet; the inventor wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question, he had only seen parts of Clint's file before he had nearly been sick from reading it. "Why didn't he share this?"

  "He did, he told me." Nat shrugged, "well, and he told Kate." As far as she was concerned, that's all he needed to have done.

  "Who's Kate?"

  Nat waited for the reaction her next words would elicit. "Kate? She's his protege."

  Tony blinked in confusion. "Hold on, who gave Hawk-ass a protege? I want a protege!"

  The ex KGB spy smirked, “you can’t have a protege, Tony, remember what you did to that poor intern?”

  “Tobi never got over that, did he?”

  “No, he did not.”

  Steve didn’t laugh with the others; his mind still flooded with confusion and that confusion slowly turning into guilt. He had been wrong about Clint. The fact that he had immediately assumed the archer had turned away from humanity to join the ranks of evil was a true show of who he really was. It showed he was still just a scared little boy, terrified of those that had any kind of power he didn’t.

  Sure, Clint didn’t have any real sort of power, but his friendships with demons had almost scared Steve to the point of no return. He was just glad he would have the chance to try and make it up to him.

  Before he could back down and rejoin the other two, Steve stepped forward and stood quietly beside Clint for a moment before speaking up. “Hey, Clint?”

  The archer continued to watch Dog Cops, appearing to ignore the captain. Steve shuffled in place awkwardly, lifting a hand to tap the marksman on the shoulder.

  And in a split second, the very moment Steve’s hand landed on Clint’s shoulder, the archer twisted in his seat, grabbing the offending hand and throwing Steve over his shoulder and across his body, heavily crashing through the coffee table.

  “Holy shit Clint!” Tony leapt forward, only to slam face first into the fast opening door of the apartment. As he stumbled back, he tripped over a fast moving blur of a dog rushing to their owner's side while loudly barking. “What the fuck, dog!”

  Lucky stood protectively in front of his owner, snarling at who he perceived as an attacker. Sure, Steve wasn’t _actually_ an attacker, but think of it this way; one of the two people you actually care about smells like fear and there is a person there who has broken the coffee table and is much bigger than both you and your owner. So Lucky was just doing what he thought needed to be done.

  Even if what he was doing was _technically_ criminal behavior. But crime isn’t really an understandable concept for a dog, so Lucky continued barking and snapping with all his heart.

  Tony had finally picked himself off the floor and had rushed forward while shouting, “dammit, someone grab that dog!”

  And even though Clint didn’t know what had been said, he stood up quickly, scooping up his barking dog and running up the stairs to his bedroom, leaving behind two very confused Avengers, one indifferent spy and one mildly surprised Kate Bishop.

  Steve pushed himself into a seated position from his place within the broken coffee table. “Does someone want to tell me what just happened?”

  Tony bent down and held out a hand to help the captain up onto his feet, “I have no clue, he just flipped out when you touched him.”

  Kate set down her bag and stepped completely into the apartment. “I think I might be able to help shed some light on the subject.” She turned to Steve, “did he see you before you touched him?”

  “Uh, no, I was standing right beside him.” Cap wasn't sure what that had to do with anything, Clint must have heard him say his name.

  “Oh, well, it’s your own fault then.” The younger archer shrugged and pulled a beer out of the fridge. Imported, nice. "Shoulda saw that coming, cap."

  “Wait, what?” Tony balked at that comment, how could this be _Steve’s_ fault, the captain was the victim here! Right?

  “Yeah, what did I do?” Steve didn’t even know who this girl _was_ and now she was accusing him of… alright, so he didn’t know what it was she was accusing him of, but he was fairly sure he didn’t do it! “It wasn’t my fault!”

  “Did Clint have his hearing aids in? And if he had them in were they on?” Kate rolled her eyes, knowing from firsthand experience exactly where this was going.

  Nat chimed in with a vague expression that even an expert wouldn't know how to read, “no, he didn’t and no they weren't.”

  “Wait, he has hearing aids?!” Tony always thought that he was more perceptive than that. "What brand is he using? I'll have to make him some better ones."

  “Clint is deaf?” Steve wasn't even sure how a deaf man could do half of what Clint did, back when Steve was young being deaf was just about a life sentence of being an outcast. Sure things had changed, but Steve wasn't sure when things had changed that much. "Never would have known it."

  “Yes and yes to both those questions.” Kate nodded, wondering how on earth the Avengers could be so short-sighted at times. Every time she saw them, it was something new. "Not sure how you two never noticed."

  “It’s in all his paperwork.” Nat shrugged, something she noticed she’d been doing quite a lot since she had joined the Avengers. “Clint is just a secretive person.”

  “I’m gonna go check on him,” Kate was trying her best to stay calm in the face of… _whatever_ this was. But she really was worried about Clint, especially with him grabbing Lucky like that, the archer was probably worried more about his dog than he was about himself.   

  Typical, really. Damn self-sacrificing archers and their dogs.

  Kate stepped across the apartment, trying to climb the stairs to the loft with as much presence as possible. “Clint? Can you hear me? Do you have your hearing aids in?” She frowned before adding her second question, “or on?”

  She sighed, uncertain if Clint even knew she was there and stepped into the smallest bedroom of the entire apartment complex. “Hello?”

  The room was dark; all outside light blocked out by heavy curtains, and the lights inside hadn't been switched on for weeks. Under the bed and hidden behind a pile of shapeless purple rags was one archer holding a dog tight against his chest. Clint was rocking in place, anxiously whispering words even the dog couldn't hear.

  “Aw hell, Clint.” Kate shook her head sadly. She had been right; Clint was more worried about his dog than he was worried about himself. The second Hawkeye stepped across the darkened loft, trying to avoid tripping over the piles of dirty clothes and unread books.

  The mess wasn’t from slovenly behavior, and it wasn’t from laziness, things in Clint’s life just had a habit of piling up. Whether it was mistakes, memories or possessions, they just always seemed to pile up in corners and darkened rooms.

  Squinting through the thick darkness, Kate slowly made her way to the window and opened the curtains, letting in a thin sliver of light from the streetlamps far below them. Kate stopped in front of Clint, the light casting her shadow across the loft and upon the huddled figure of her mentor. She muttered quietly, knowing now that Clint couldn’t hear her. “Fight or flight response and you choose to save your _dog_. That’s not even supposed to be an option, you idiot. No, idiot is too mild. You jackass.”

  “GherwayKayte” There was no way anyone could have understood what Clint had just said, even if he hadn’t been talking into Lucky’s fur. “donwannatalk.”

  “Oh for Christ's sake.” Kate rolled her eyes and crouched down, waving her hand to catch Lucky’s attention. “Lucky, come here boy.”

  Clint frowned as Lucky leapt from his lap, and the archer glared up at his friend. “Go away, Kate.”

  “I’m not gonna do that, Clint.” Kate sighed, frustrated that Clint couldn’t see her sign or even read her lips in the darkness. “I hate seeing you like this, you idiot.”

  “I just want to be left alone.”

  Kate spoke quietly; she needed to say what was on her mind even if nobody could hear her. “I know you can’t hear what I’m saying, but listen up anyway. You have three of your teammates out there worrying themselves to possible hypertension because of you! They’re your team, they care about you, though Gods know they’ll never say it. Well, Nat might, she’s great that way.” took a deep breath, trying to regain control of her escalating emotions. She didn’t notice the fact that even in the oppressing darkness, Clint had his eyes trained on her face and could understand every word he had said so far. “But Tony and Steve are stupid men, just like you. They’ll never talk about their feelings, but it doesn’t mean they care any less. Those two idiots are more than just your teammates, they’re your friends, and they love you.”

   The younger Hawkeye took a deep breath, trying to regain control of her escalating emotions. She didn’t notice the fact that even in the oppressing darkness, Clint had his eyes trained on her face and could understand every word he had said so far. “But Tony and Steve are stupid men, just like you. They’ll never talk about their feelings, but it doesn’t mean they care any less. Those two idiots are more than just your teammates, they’re your friends, and they love you.”

  “Hmm?” Clint gestured cluelessly, pretending not to have any clue what his protege had said. “did you forget that I’m deaf?”

  Kate waved away his words, “just… Forget it.”

  “What?” The archer hid his grin, taking Kate’s speech to heart. "What am I forgetting?"

  “Nothing, you loser.”

  “Hold on; I’ll turn my aids back on, I have no idea what you’re saying.” Clint fumbled with his hearing aids, listening as the world of sound snapped back into sudden existence. “What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘nothing, you Loser.’” Kate shook her head, “come on, let’s go watch Dog Cops and chase the Avengers out of your apartment.”


	6. My Turn

  Clint woke slowly, a heavy weight on his chest that he was half certain was Lucky based on the smell. Or he could be wrong; it could be Kate. He stared up at the ceiling, watching the shadows play with the slowly encroaching light fading in from beyond the curtains. The archer sighed, pushing his dog off his chest and climbing off the couch to stare out the window at the busy city streets.

 

  Without any sound, even the tamest or ordinary of surroundings could be beautiful, the beauty not from the scene itself, but from the sense of the unknown. Clint pulled himself away from those thoughts and turned around to find Kate standing behind him with the standard expression of someone woken up from sleep too early. She shuffled back into the kitchen, tapping her hand against her mouth then completing the compound sign for “breakfast” as she walked.

 

  The original Hawkeye followed his apprentice, scratching at his bruised knuckles. With as much as he managed to hurt himself, he really should be used to the itch of healing skin, but that happening just wasn’t in the cards. The archer stumbled over the destroyed remains of his coffee table, the events of last night still fresh in his mind.

 

  “Didn’t you say something about making Tony buy me a new coffee table?”

 

  Sure, he still had the kitchen island with the barstools, but a coffee table is an entirely different thing. A coffee table is cozy, private, the sort of place you spill personal secrets.

 

  “I’ve had my eye on this one at a little antique shop, sorta spendy, but if Tony’s buying…” Clint walked the stairs up into his bedroom, digging through the pile of clothes in front of his closet to find something that didn't smell too bad. He needed to do laundry, but it was turning cold again, and without a washer or dryer it was an absolute nightmare hauling everything up and down the stairs over and over again.

 

  So for now, half dirty clothes would have to do the trick. He shrugged off his shirt from the night before and pulled on a mostly stain-free purple t-shirt. He wandered down the stairs back out into the apartment, looking for wherever he had left his boots. They weren't in his room, or in the living room, so for some god-forsaken reason, so they must be in the kitchen. He really needed to buy some more shoes, but all the best shoes for his line of work were well over a hundred bucks, and Avenging doesn't exactly pay as well as it used to.

 

  Maybe he could guilt Tony into buying him some new shoes as well... He sighed and picked his hearing aids up off the kitchen counter, carefully placing them into his ears and turning them on just in time to hear a knock at the door.

 

  “I’ll get it.” Kate stepped over to the door and opened it, revealing a set of Mormon Missionaries. “Uh, hi?”

 

  The shorter missionary grinned awkwardly and spoke in stilted sentences, almost as if it was scripted. Who am I kidding, we all know it’s scripted. “Hi! I’m Elder Covey, and this is Elder Lee. Would you like to hear about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and his place in the Church of Latter Day Saints?”

 

  Kate frowned, “uh, I don’t… Clint!” She waved desperately at her mentor, I mean, her bumbling older brother figure, “I actually don’t live here, how about you talk to the guy who does live here!”

 

  Clint grimaced, pulling his shoes on and rushing to Kate’s ‘rescue.’ The moment that he appeared in the doorway, the enthusiastic grins vanished from the missionaries faces. So they had heard about him. Good, that meant they would probably be easier to scare off.

 

  The archer put on the airiest voice he could, trying to achieve the level of zen that would really sell this. “Hi, I’m Clint Barton, and I worship trees. Would you like to learn about the path of the druid?” He smiled broadly, knowing he was showing too many teeth and he tried his best to keep himself from blinking. “The ancient teachings of the Oak show that the soul is immortal and passes from one person to the next after death! The criminals must be burned to save the rest of us all!”

 

  “Um, that’s… Would you like to take part in our ten question survey?”

 

  “Of course! Would you like to come inside?” Clint moved out of the way, and the two missionaries peered inside to see a room full of weapons and destroyed furniture. As soon as they saw what lay inside Clint could almost see their lives flash before their eyes as they casually tried to back away.

 

  The taller missionary subtly pushed the other in front of them, between themselves and the perceived threat. “Ah, no, that’s alright.”  
  

  “We, we really should be going!” The second missionary just about shoved the other down the stairs and sprinted after them. “Have a blessed day!”

 

  Clint waved enthusiastically, “walk with the earth mother!”

 

  As the two raced down the stairs, Clint could hear them argue heatedly about why the smaller missionary had been a human shield, and Clint turned back to Kate with a triumphant grin on his face. He checked his watch and sighed. “Damn, three minutes this time around. I’m never gonna beat my high score.”

 

  Kate shook her head in disbelief, “Clint, you didn’t have to do that to them.”

 

  “They’ll be back in a week, I guarantee it. Well, maybe not those two, but someone will come back in a week.” Clint stepped out the still open door, Kate following him. "I've contacted all their churches to try and get them to stop, but they just keep showing back up. So this is as much their fault as it is mine."

 

  Kate shook her head, pulling her car keys from her purple purse. "Clint, come on, that's just idiotic."

 

  "Sure, but it really is fun." Clint wasn’t going to pretend he was some sort of genius; he was pretty sure he had actually said quite a bit to the opposite. “So, what’s on the planner for today?”

 

  The younger Hawkeye shrugged, she didn’t really have anything on her agenda. "Let's go get breakfast; I'm starving."

 

  “Kozy Kitchen?”

 

  “Nah, that waiter tried to double charge us last time, remember?”

 

  “Oh yeah…” Clint rolled his shoulders, trying to stretch muscles still stiff from sleep. “How ‘bout Younges?”

 

  “Burgers for breakfast? No thanks.”

 

  Clint yawned, “well, wherever we go we need to get some serious coffee. I’m about ready to plotz.”

 

  Kate stepped down from the final stair, opening the outside door and striding towards her car. “Ooh, what about that little place just a few blocks from here. What’s it called?”

 

  “Dishners?” Clint shrugged, “I guess. They have some pretty good breakfast burritos.”

 

  The two of them settled into the car, Kate starting the engine and letting it idle for a moment. “Hell yeah, burrito time.”

 

  Clint rolled his eyes, “don’t be such a loser.”

 

  “What, I thought you’d like if I was more like you?”

 

  “...shut up.”

 

  The two sat in comfortable silence as the short distance fell away under the tires, stopping at the traffic light where Clint slowly started reaching his had towards the radio.

 

  “Don’t touch that.”

 

  “Come on, let’s pump some tunes!”

 

  “...” Kate wasn’t going to dignify that with a response, instead, she pretended to be busy staring at the unchanging traffic light. “Is this the longest red light ever, or what?”

 

  Clint frowned, “what, don’t people say that anymore?”  
  
  

  “No! No, they don't.”  
  
  

  Clint fiddled with the dial, sifting through talk radio and weather reports and that one station that always seems to play elevator music with no stops.

  
  
_“- it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign.”_

 

  “Yeeeeeahh!”

 

  Kate struggled not to grin, out of all the heavy metal and classic rock and Clint had settled on Ace of Bass. “seriously dude, that’s what you’re going with?” She frowned, struggling to remember her musical history. “Weren't they some kind of Nazis?”

  

  Clint shrugged, turning to music down. “Yeah, you know what, I think they were. They tricked their fan base into being racists, or supporting racists, or something.”

  

  “Damn, that’s fucked up.” Kate reached over and turned the radio off, “now I can’t listen to that song without feeling bad.” The light changed from red to green, and the car jumped forward, speeding away from the other vehicles that had pulled up beside them.

  

  Hawkeye continued rambling, “and didn’t one of the Backstreet Boys say he wanted his kid to be a lesbian because he didn't want her dating?”

 

  “Fuck, what?!”  Kate struggled to keep her eyes on the road, turning down the last street to the restaurant. “Hold that thought, let me park and then we can talk about other musicians who are terrible people.”

 

“Well, we'll have a lot to talk about then. Like, didn't Gene Simmons just get banned from Fox?” Clint dug around in his pocket for his phone, knowing there had to more to the story.

 

“What kind of things do you have to do to get banned from Fox?!” Kate shook her head in disbelief, parking and shutting down the engine. “Come on, let's get some burritos.”

 

“Yeah, let's go.”

  
****

  
  
  "Hashtag burrito breakfast!" They were at Dishners, a small diner that had the best 80’s aesthetic.

 

  "Clint, don't say that." Kate faked a frown over her cup of coffee. She sipped and smiled a little. They always had the best coffee at these old diners.

 

  Clint smiled and raised up his breakfast burrito in a mock salute. “Whatever you say, captain.”

 

  "Why do you hate me, Clint? Why?" Kate eyed her own burrito, eggs, cheese, bacon and potatoes, all slumbering within two tortillas. The perfect breakfast that you can eat with your hands. "Why are you like this?"

 

  “What are you talking about, Kate-kat, you’re my protege!”

 

  “So what, me being your protege means you have a free pass to be an idiot?”

 

  “One hundred percent.” Clint was barely understandable, speaking around a mouthful of burrito. “I’m your teacher, so I get to be a dick. Haven't you ever read a comic book? This is just how this thing works.”

 

  Kate sighed and rubbed her temples. “This isn’t a comic book, Clint. And you’re not the world-weary old man, and I’m not a naive sidekick with some super intense backstory.”

 

  Clint rolled his eyes, “fine; I’ll let you have that one. But I’m still your teacher; you have to listen to me!”

 

  The two sat quietly as the minutes ticked by, the only sounds being created coming from other restaurant customers and the kitchen. Both of them could feel the tension begin to rise, and Clint knew what was about to happen.

 

  Kate spoke quietly, asking a question that had been on both her mind and half of the cities. “So, why did you yell at that reporter? I get that you hate being interviewed, but it seemed kinda personal.”

 

  Clint said nothing, keeping his eyes trained on his plate.

 

  “That Rather guy definitely crossed a line, I’m sure of that, a lot of people actually want him fired, but what really happened?” Kate didn't want to put to much pressure on Clint, but she had never seen him so upset, even when she had run off to California with his dog.

 

  “Nothing happened.”

 

  “Well, I don’t think you having a breakdown on a live interview is nothing, but okay.”

 

  “It wasn’t a breakdown, alright?” Clint set down the remaining half of his burrito, having suddenly lost his appetite. “I just…" He sighed, trying to figure out his thoughts. "Look, when my hearing was damaged as a kid, people always just assumed that I was…” He trailed off, hoping that Kate understood his meaning.

 

  “Oh.” Kate frowned slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that was why.”

 

  “Yeah, nobody but Barney did. Well, and now you too, I guess.”

 

  “Thanks for telling me. I don’t know how that must have felt, but I know it must have been difficult.”

 

  “Well, I had a long time to get over it, but I guess I haven’t. Just my luck, right?" Clint grinned nervously, hoping to diffuse the last of the tension that had built.

 

  Silence fell over their table, neither of them knowing what they were supposed to say next. A waitress brought them boxes for their leftovers, and they paid. All in silence.

 

  Once they were back to the car, Clint turned to Kate. “Thanks for getting it. I can’t really explain it to the team, hell, I can’t really share anything with them. But I want that to change. I really do, I just don’t know how to start.”

 

****

 

  The two of them had driven back to Clint's apartment building in near silence, not an uncomfortable quiet, but one filled with understanding.

  

  Neither of them wanted to break the silence that had fallen over them. Like the hypnotic quiet of a foggy morning before the first bird calls. From shutting down the car to going back up into the apartment, the calm was only broken by the sounds of the families and animals that lived in the building.

  

  “So, a lot of heavy feelings we had back there.” Kate put away the leftovers and turned back to Clint, pouring some fresh food into Lucky's bowl.

 

  “Yeah, not really used to… talking about my problems.” He sat at the kitchen bar, staring down at his hands in frustration. “Like, I'm not used to this at all.”

 

  “Well, now you've got to open communication with your team.” Kate leaned against the kitchen bar, arms crossed over her chest. "They won't fully trust you unless you can trust them."

 

  Clint sighed dramatically, “see, that's just the thing, where the hell do I even begin to go about that? I know Nat understands most of my problems, but we've built that bond over the past seven years. I don't even know if I can build that same bond with the rest of the team.” Part of Clint wasn't sure if he wanted to try and befriend his team. Too much of a risk, to both his body and mind.

 

  “You built a bond with me.” Kate smiled gently, she knew what Clint meant, but she was always trying to convince him that he wasn't a complete idiot. 

 

  “You're my protege, that doesn't count." Clint grimaced, suddenly remembering something that could turn out to be a problem later on down the line. "Besides, I think I already messed things up with Barnes, I threw an apple at his face.”

 

  “What? Why the hell would you…?” Kate waved away that line of thought, it was far too confusing. “Nevermind, how about we start with making Tony Stark buy you a new coffee table?”

 

  Clint pulled out his phone, “you know, that’s an idea I can get behind.”

 

  He glared at his screen as he dialed Tony on an outdated Stark-phone. It wasn’t even two years old and it was already considered ancient. Especially by Tony’s impossibly high standards. Everything had to be cutting edge with that guy.

 

  One ring. Ugh, what was he supposed to say? _‘Hey Tony, buy me a coffee table because I broke the last one with Steves back?’_

 

  Two rings. Maybe he could just use this as a chance to fuck with Tony, sorta get him back for the past few missions.

 

  Three- “What do you want Hawkbreath?”

 

  “Coffee table, you buy?” Clint grimaced, seeing Kate doubled over with laughter at his slip up.

 

  “What?” Clint couldn’t see Tony, but he still knew exactly what face he was making. That face where you know he's both confused and disappointed, but he looks instead as if he just bit into a lemon.

 

  “I need a new coffee table, I kinda broke my other one with Steve, remember?”

 

  “So, you want me to get you something unbreakable, maybe with adamantium cross support?”

 

  Clint grinned, realizing how he could really mess with Tony. “No, I wanted to be able to talk to you while picking something out. Besides, I feel like you and Kate got off on the wrong foot, and I want my friends to all get along.” He knew just how much Tony hated any kind of shopping, and how much he hated having to talk to people, but Tony would still do just about anything for a friend. Especially if he thought he had emotionally traumatized said friend the night before.

 

  "Barton, I really don't want to go ant-

 

  Hawkeye cut him off before he could say _'antiquing_.' "Besides, I wanted to apologize for acting like such a jackass over this whole demon shit. I don't want to hide this stuff from you and the team, you're my friends aren't you?"

 

  There was silence for a moment before Tony mumbled, “fine, what did you have in mind?”

 

  “Oh, I have just the place in mind. I was thinking The Upper Rust, 7th avenue. It’s got that beautiful blue storefront, you can't miss it.” Clint grinned, hanging up before Tony had the chance to get a word in edgewise. He turned back to Kate, “I’m getting a new table!”

 

  
****

 

  The Upper Rust is always busy, but not in the way a normal shop is busy. Time seems to pass differently the moment you pass through the door of an antique shop. The old furniture and decorations carry a sort of quiet dignity, and they demand respect.

 

  Everything inside carries weight, weight enough to drown you beneath the waves of the seas of memory.

 

  The trio had only been in the shop for thirty minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Kate glared across the crowded room at Tony Stark, trying to make her feelings known. She knew that Tony had heard _something_ about Clint's history with demons, and she wasn't sure how much he knew. But she would just have to see how this would play out.

 

  Tony squirmed under the strength of her glare, uncertain of why he was being targeted by her. He tried his best to avoid making eye contact with anyone, feeling out of place surrounded by all the aging wood and metal in the room. This wasn't his forte, he was more at home around technology, and the only tech in the room was an outdated cash register and an ancient typewriter. The lack of tech was something he would almost classify as a form of torture.

 

  Kate stepped up behind her prey, she moved silently, even in her heels. “I don't know how much you _think_ you know about Clint, but if he comes to you and tries to make a real connection you better listen to him. You ever try and use any of that against him you will find yourself in an airless refrigerator headed to the bottom of the ocean.” She stepped forward, shoulder checking him as she did. “Watch your back, Stark.”

 

  Clint turned to his protege. “Kate, take a look at this table! Brazilian Imported rose-wood!”

 

  “That's nice Clint.” Kate didn't look back at Tony, but she could feel his discomfort from her threat. “This would go great in your living room.”

 

  “Yeah it would, wouldn't it?” Clint pushed on the tabletop, testing its strength. “I wonder how well it'll hold up to arrows…”

 

  “Don't worry, you can just make Tony buy you a new one if anything goes wrong.”

 

  Clint furrowed his brow, “what are you talking about, it's a table, what can go wrong?”

 

  “Oh, you poor fool.” Kate turned back to Tony and gestured him forward away from the wall he had been trying to disappear into. “It'll be this one here, moneybags.”

 

  Tony sighed, “why am I here again? Isn't your family rich? Aren't you rich?”

 

  Kate smirked, crossing her arms. “Semantics, Stark. I'll go get someone to take this to the car.” She stalked away, satisfied with her work, leaving the two men to make awkward conversation.

 

  Tony rolled his eyes dramatically and stepped up beside Clint. “Alright, what's the damage, Barton?”

 

  The archer tapped the price tag, laughing at Tony's reaction. “Pricey for a table, right? But it's not just a table, it's a part of the family.”

 

  Tony blinked in confusion. “You're a weird guy Clint. But you're not a weird as that protege of yours.” 

 

   Clint rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “Yeah, Katie-Kat can be like that sometimes. What did she do this time?”

 

   Tony spoke tonelessly, adding to the credibility of the threat. “She told me she was going to shove me in an airless fridge and drop in the ocean if I wasn't nice to you.”

 

  “What?!” Clint rubbed his temples with frustration. This was only supposed to be a fun time messing with Tony's head, but Kate had to go and make it too real. Clint was sure that if Kate had the time she would threaten each and every one of the Avengers until she was satisfied with the result.  “Damn it, sorry about that, Tony. She can be a little… overprotective at times. Even though I'm an adult that can take care of myself.”

 

  “We'll see about that.”

 

  “Hey! Rude. And speaking of rude. I'm sorry I was such a dick about this whole demon thing. I should have just fessed up and not made a huge production of it all.”

 

  Tony shrugged, he didn't want to say that he had already forgiven him. “Yeah, well, I shouldn't have pushed you on it. I also should have paid more attention to the Shield personnel files. Why didn't you tell anyone you were deaf?”

 

  Clint stiffened, avoiding looking in Tony's direction. “What, deaf? Why would you think that?”

 

  “Well, Kate told me after you threw Steve.” The inventor felt awkward, knowing if Clint was keeping a secret it was for a reason. "She was trying to explain why you threw him, and well..." He trailed off, not sure how to continue his line of thinking. 

 

  “Damn it Kate-Kat.” The archer glanced around in discomfort, checking the exits and sightlines out of habit. “I just kind of... didn't want you guys to know.” Clint shrugged vaguely, “besides, it was in all my files. I never really hid it.” That was a lie. Clint had done just about everything in his power to hide the fact that he was deaf. Longer haircuts, hoodies, even going so far as to wear ridiculous hats and risk being called a hipster.

 

  “You never really told anyone either.” The two meandered out of the store, making their way to the car.

 

  “Point.” Clint rubbed at his hearing aids self consciously. “I just don't like how people treat me differently once they find out I'm deaf.”

 

   As if Tony hadn't ever heard the last thing Clint had said, the supposed genius started to ramble. "I'm sure I could make you some more discrete hearing aids, you know-"

 

   The archer raised his hand, "let me stop you there Tony. No messing around with the assistive tech that would literally be less than an inch away from my brain." Clint sighed and lowered his voice. "Besides, there's too much scarring for anything smaller. Believe me, the doctors were very clear on that."

   

   "Oh." Tony wanted to say something more, but nothing felt right. _'I'm sorry,'_   just felt fake, and he had no clue what else he was supposed to say. If there was anything to say. 

 

   "Yeah." Clint saw the store people headed out to the car, and he knew he had to say any emotional things right now, and get it done before anyone else would be able to overhear. "Look, Tony. I just want to say thanks. Not for the table, but for the whole team... thing. I'm not so great at dealing with this kinda thing, but I want to try and make this work."

 

   "What are you talking about, Birdbrain?"

 

   "Like, friendship and shit." Clint smacked himself mentally, that was definitely not the right way to say that, but it was too late, the store people were there with the table and Tony was paying.

 

   "You boys ready?" Kate sauntered up, holding a large purple lamp. "Look what I found!" She eyed the two men, noticing the lack of tension, and the changed dynamic. Her work was far from done, but it was definitely working. She slid into the car, putting her new lamp into the back seat.

 

    Tony turned back to Clint, not sure what to say now that he knew the archer wasn't as cold as he acted around the team. Sure, clint always joked around, but it felt almost as if it was being forced. The inventor smiled, "you know, you're a pretty cool guy yourself, Clint."

 

   "You know it." Clint opened the passenger door of Kates car, "I'll see you soon Tony."

 

"Yeah, there should be an emergency within the week, so we've got something lined up for sure." Tony turned around and headed back to his own car, not looking back. He didn't have any doubts about what had just happened, and he wanted to figure out how to make this all work.

 

   Back in Kates Pontiac, Clint was doing the opposite. He was looking back, not just literally, but figuratively. He couldn't help looking over what he had said, obsessively picking out every flaw.  

 

   "Clint, I know that look, stop doubting yourself." Kate started her car, revving the engine before heading back to Clint's apartment. "Besides, from my end, it all looked to have gone great."

 

   "I guess it did." Clint and Kate grinned, the mood between them changing to something far lighter then it had been for a while. "I guess the next step is Cap."

 

   "Oh, that should go well." 

 

   The two of them broke out into laughter, the sound covering up one much more sinister coming from the back seat.

 


End file.
